


The First Time

by villaneuve



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, Corpse Desecration, Graphic Description, Language of Flowers, M/M, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villaneuve/pseuds/villaneuve
Summary: The first time Kenma saw him, he was weeping.Not the silent heaving of his shoulders. No, it was quite the opposite.It was the raucous and desperate cry of a man in despair. The very sound sent shivers down his spine and the little hairs on his arms to raise.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	The First Time

The first time Kenma saw him, he was weeping.

Not the silent heaving of his shoulders. No, it was quite the opposite.

It was the raucous and desperate cry of a man in despair. The very sound sent shivers down his spine and the little hairs on his arms to raise. 

It was not one that he wished upon his worst enemies; the pain, agonizing.

He covered the small grave, flowers crushed beneath his knees as his tears created holes in the snow.

The thought of walking over to him quickly died as another sob ripped out from deep within his lungs.

Kenma watched him for a few more seconds before moving towards his own destination.

Perhaps he would never see him again.

Perhaps that was for the best.

The second time Kenma saw him, he was alone once more and the flowers were discreetly placed above the gravestone.

There was silence this time, no cries of agony.

Kenma noted that the flowers were asphodel flowers.

His lips moved, as if in silent prayer, and his hand traced the lettering on the grave slowly.

Kenma took a step forward to see the name, but a miscalculated step had him clumsily staggering on the dry autumn leaves. The crunch amplified across the field.

The man whipped around, his eyes searching for the source of the noise and landed on the mortified blonde. He lifted his foot and took a step back, as if that motion could take back the broken moment.

His posture immediately turned defensive towards the grave, like he was protecting it, and his eyes remained on the blonde.

Kenma fled.

Ran away without reaching his destination.

His drive home was plagued with thoughts of that moment. The way his gaze pierced into Kenma’s very soul, the obvious sorrow evident in his frown, his kneeling posture on the clean grave site, the look of utter anguish that bled through his pain when he realized someone had witnessed his moment of vulnerability.

He knew that look; it had been one he wore before.

_Asphodel: my regrets follow you to the grave_

He placed the elderflowers on the gravesite where he had seen the man kneel a couple times before.

_“The only time I will ever feel despair is when I am no longer on this earth.”_

No date of death, no name, no other mention of who this person was except for the single quote.

Kenma mourned for the lost person and the man whose grief bled into his own soul. Reading the quote one more time, he placed a delicate hand on the stone before walking back to his car.

_Elderflowers: compassion_

The third time he saw him, it was not at their usual location. Kenma was at the local café near the gravesite, buying his daily coffee which would sustain him for the day. It was his new vice, switching out the old one for coffee. If he was honest with himself, coffee was a much better alternative than not eating, as he once had done.

After the death of his best friend, Kenma didn’t have much of an appetite and would rarely eat. It was so bad to the point his friends and family recommended he get therapy and go to a doctor in order to get healthy again.

It’s been four years since then and he still feels the sting of Kuroo’s death every year.

Thanking the barista for the drink, Kenma left the café and was searching his pockets for car keys when he bumped into someone from behind.

Luckily his coffee was saved, and he profusely apologized to the woman he had hit.

From the corner of his eyes, Kenma saw him with a bundle of dark pink roses in the crook of his arm.

Kenma turned back to the woman and apologized once more before searching for the man, but he could not find a single trace of his presence.

Sighing into his coffee, the blonde walked towards his car but stopped when he noticed the bundle of dark pink roses sitting atop the hood of the car. 

A small smile sat on his lips as he breathed in the fresh fragrance.

_Dark pink roses: gratitude and appreciation_

The fourth time Kenma saw him, the man was waiting by the entrance of the cemetery.

He wondered if this happened to be a coincidence and thought perhaps, he was waiting on someone else.

Exiting the car, Kenma took the rosemary flowers with him and made his way to the entrance. The man looked up and a soft smile embraced his features as he watched Kenma slowly approach. When he was five steps away, Kenma stopped and stared at him to which he reciprocated the action. He was empty handed today.

“I was wondering if you’d like to talk for a bit. If that’s okay with you.” He disclosed. Kenma could see a flame of hope in his eyes, a yearning for him to agree.

He agreed and the two made their way over to where Kenma first saw him, in front of the grave that he had been kneeling over. He led the way and the blonde couldn’t help but to study him from behind. He wore mourning clothes – a black dress shirt, black khakis, and black dress shoes. His accessories were minimal, a simple ring on his index finger and a cross necklace that hung low on his neck. His long hair was brushed back, an unconventional orange, and he could see the beginnings of a tattoo on his arms where he had rolled back his sleeves. He remained a mystery to Kenma and Kenma found himself wanted to know more about the orange-haired man.

Reaching the gravestone, Kenma sat down first, his long wool cardigan wrapped firmly his shoulders. He placed the rosemary flowers in front of the stone.

The man sat down next to him, hunched, and crossed his legs as he fingered the edges of his pants.

“How did you know I would come today?” Kenma glanced from the corner of his eyes.

“I didn’t. I remembered your car from last time and saw it on my way here. It’s been a few years since we’ve first seen each other so I thought today was as good a day as any other to finally meet you.” He looked over to Kenma and gave a smile that nearly broke his heart.

“Ah.”

“I’m Shoyo, by the way.” He offered his hand to the blonde and he firmly grasped it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shoyo. I’m Kenma.” Letting go, he looked forward to the stone and read the quote, his lips silently mouthing the words.

“He was my... I lost him 3 years ago.” Shoyo whispered, his voice becoming much softer than it already was. Kenma offered no words of comfort. “We were caught up in some bad shit and things turned for the worst. I couldn’t reach him fast enough and he was already gone.” 

They sat quietly, absorbing the depth of his words. It was one thing to lose someone due to natural causes and another to lose someone whose death you felt responsible for. He couldn’t fathom the amount of bitterness and rage that encompassed his soul, like a darkness so suffocating no amount of light could penetrate the abyss. Kenma’s soul desperately cried out to provide comfort, to erase the sorrow.

“It’s a beautiful quote.” He answered instead.

“Thanks. And thanks for not saying you’re sorry.” Kenma nodded in acknowledgement.

“I understand. My best friend died 5 years ago. He’s buried here too. Whenever someone would apologize, I wasn’t sure why they did. It didn’t bring me comfort. But I said thanks anyways - people get uncomfortable if you don’t accept their condolences.” Shoyo agreed with him as he turned to look at the blonde. He donned a soft smile, not quite reaching his eyes but a smile, nonetheless. Turning to meet his gaze, Kenma smiled wider and released a small chuckle. It stole Shoyo’s breath away, as peace settled across his body like the raging storm has finally been calmed.

_Rosemary: remembrance_

He should have known. 

The hunch of his shoulders in crowds. The constant looking over his shoulder. The sheer number of tattoos on his body. The faint scars littered across his chest. The hidden gun next to their bed Shoyo thought Kenma didn’t know about. The fact that Shoyo seemed to have no friends.

He wanted to chalk it up to coincidence. His lovely, bright, charming, melancholy husband had a difficult past, but it was in the past. Shoyo was Kenma’s forever.

Kenma stood stiffly in front of the grave, watching snow accumulate on the purple hyacinths from last time he was here, as he read over and over again the only sentence on the stone.

_“I want to fly.”_

Such simple words. Shoyo confessed them to Kenma on a particularly dreary day. 

_It was pouring outside, it had been for two days, and Kenma laid in bed with Shoyo across his chest. Kenma absentmindedly combed through the orange fluff, liking the way the color looked against his fingers._

_They were enjoying a moment of quietness, something that came often to the pair. It wasn’t awkward, rather each recognized what the quietness brought to them._

_Comfort. Peace. A time to reflect._

_“… want… fly.” Shoyo mumbled into Kenma’s skin._

_“Hmm?” the blonde hummed, stopping his ministrations to look at his husband._

_“I want to fly. Fly away somewhere far, like a bird.” Frowning, Kenma continued to stroke Shoyo’s hair as if to reassure him._

_“Where would you go?”_

_“Up into the skies, where no one could find me.” Looking up at the blonde, Shoyo’s eyes shone with remorse, “Would you go with me?”_

_Kenma felt a lump grow in his throat, unsure if he was emotionally ready to delve into what Shoyo hinted at. So instead, Kenma offered a tender smile and said, “I would follow you anywhere.”_

_Shoyo’s eyes searched Kenma’s, who felt sweat start to form._

_The moment ended as Shoyo reached up and brought his lips to his husband’s in a soft kiss._

_“Thank you, Kenma. For everything.” Is what he said before resuming his previous position._

_Kenma felt a shiver run down his body, the intimacy of the moment making his heart physically ache._

_Shoyo didn’t say anything else that night, opting to listen to Kenma’s heartbeat instead._

The very next week, Kenma found Shoyo in the hospital, bloodied and severed in multiple areas. His first reaction was to heave his dinner, which he promptly did to the indignation of the nurses. 

Tears blurred his vision as he looked back at his mutilated husband. 

The skin between his fingers seemed to have been cut down to his wrist, rusted nails embedded into the empty fingertips. His foot was mangled beyond recognition and his knees looked like they were sewn together with old copper wires. None of his tattoos were recognizable anymore with cuts that ran deep in the skin like the offending instrument was trying to carve the tattoos out of his very soul. Kenma could see streaks of tears marring his husband’s dirtied face.

Whoever did this decided that Shoyo’s face was worth saving, the only part of his husband that was preserved. 

Gripping the flowers in his hands, Kenma placed the two bouquets he brought today next to the hyacinths before turning to the gravestone next to his husband’s.

“I will not despair until I leave this earth.”

Kenma turned around and walked, leaving the two solitary gravestones with tansies. 

_Purple Hyacinth: Sorrow  
Tansy: Hostile thoughts, declaring war_


End file.
